Crispin turned, fully expecting the sight of the old man with a tattered eye patch over one eye. He folded his arms over his chest when the raven lighted on the old man’s shoulders.
‘I’ll be damned,’ said the man in a roughened voice. ‘Is that Crispin Guest?’
‘It is, you old thief. This can’t be the same bird from all those years ago.’
The man chuckled and rubbed his gray chin stubble. ‘Och me, no. Sir Ingram has long since passed. This is Lady Agnes.’ He raised his finger to the dark bird, and she nibbled affectionately on the digit. ‘And a right smart fitheach.’
‘Your “Lady Agnes” tried to pilfer my purse. You wouldn’t be up to your old tricks again, would you, Domhnall?’
‘Me? Ah, Master Crispin. An old man such as m’self?’
‘How else did she get into the habit of seeking out purses?’
‘They like shiny things. Coins, jewelry.’ He shrugged. ‘I canna seem to break her of the habit.’
‘Of course not.’ He looked around the barren room. Small, few bits of furniture, a sputtering fire in the mostly broken hearth. Crispin usually only concerned himself with the hardened criminal, those willing to commit violence, rape, or extortion. He had always been inclined to let the petty thief off with a warning. And Domhnall had been no exception. His trained bird had done much thievery over the years, but the man had been clever and had done Crispin a favor or two, and so Crispin had been willing to look the other way.
He shuffled his feet on the dusty floor. ‘You’re a northerner, aren’t you?’
Domhnall lowered himself to a rickety stool and fed the bird on his shoulder scraps of dried meat he pulled from a pouch at his belt. It looked to be nearly the only food on the premises.
The man squinted his remaining eye at Crispin. ‘That had a very accusing tone to it, sir.’
‘Forgive me. I had not meant it to come out that way.’ He crouched to be at the man’s height, looking him in the eye. ‘It is just that I seem to be plagued of late with your countrymen.’
‘Oh? How so?’
How much to say? ‘Something of great import was stolen. I have reason to believe that Scottish rebels had something to do with it.’
‘Rebels, you say? Well. That is something, then, isn’t it? Do you think I’m a rebel?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past you … but no. I do not.’
He chuckled again and lifted the bird from his shoulder with a finger. Its toes wrapped about it as he lifted higher and shook his hand, sending the bird flying to its perch. She cawed once at Crispin, as if he had something to do with it, and commenced grooming her feathers. ‘I’m too old for such nonsense in any case. And too set in my ways to return to Scotland. I’ve no family and my clan has long forgotten me, no doubt. No, Westminster is now my home.’
‘I am glad to hear it. Would you care to make some coin?’
The old man’s jovial features suddenly turned to a scowl. ‘Just because I am an old man doesn’t mean I’d betray my countrymen and king. That’s the Scottish king I speak of, in case you didna get my meaning.’
‘I understood you, Master Domhnall. I feared my request might put you at odds with your countrymen.’ He rose and bowed. ‘My apologies. Forgive this intrusion, then.’ Crispin turned to leave.
‘Wait.’ Domhnall rose slowly, grunting. ‘Och, these old bones. And with another winter coming on, too. Maybe you’d best explain, Master Crispin, and then I’ll tell you whether you insult me or not. After all, a full coin purse can go a long way to assuage my indignity.’
Crispin gave the room another glance before walking to the man’s meager fire. ‘Very well. I shall have to trust you even as you put your trust in me. The Coronation Chair at Westminster has lost its Stone.’
‘Eh?’ The bushy brows over Domhnall’s hazel eye and eye patch gradually rose. ‘Do you mean to say … God’s toes. The Stone of Scone has been liberated?’
‘Stolen, yes.’
Domhnall offered a sly smile. ‘Ha! Well.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s a difference of opinion, then.’
Crispin grimaced, thinking of the empty space under the chair. ‘The king is not best pleased.’
‘No. I reckon not.’
‘And as a consequence has taken my apprentice hostage. I have three days to find it or he’ll kill the boy.’
Domhnall’s smile slipped away. ‘Oh.’ He hobbled forward toward the raven on its perch and petted the dark feathers. The bird, for her part, seemed to coo at his ministrations. ‘Oh, that is a harsh thing.’
‘Yes,’ he said tightly.
‘I always admired the fact that you took him in, Master Crispin. Him a lowly cutpurse. One of our own, so to speak. No, Jack doesn’t deserve that.’
‘You see my dilemma.’
‘Aye.’ The bird left the perch to light upon his shoulder again. She gently toyed with his eye patch. ‘I’d no see harm come to young Master Jack,’ he said, lightly batting the bird away. Lady Agnes sat back, eyeing Crispin with the cock of her head. ‘What sort of help would you be needing?’
Crispin sighed with relief. ‘I would mostly need you to keep your ears and eyes open.’
He tapped the eye patch. ‘Only the one left, but it’s as good as two.’
‘And report to me if you hear anything of this plot. But Master Domhnall, our time is very short.’
‘Isn’t it always, bless the Lord? And yet, plots there are aplenty on the streets of London and Westminster. Those men that hold the Stone might be reasoned with.’
Crispin laughed humorlessly. ‘My friend, you have a very naïve view of the world if you believe that. Why, by God’s grace, would they wish to do so?’
‘For money, of course. Many a high and mighty ideal can be swayed thus.’ Crispin gave him a withering look. ‘Oh, not you of course, Master Crispin. Who has not heard the tales of the Tracker?’
‘Do you mean to say that they hold the thing for ransom? That all the king need do is give them their bag of gold and they would relinquish it? I think it far too valuable to trade it for gold. In many men’s eyes, it represents the king’s foot on the neck of Scotland. You cannot put a price on that. It can be a banner for open rebellion, and Richard knows it.’
‘You know a great deal of such matters for a southerner.’
‘I was a warrior, remember? My head was bent over many a map of strategy. Only a fool would bargain the Stone for money when so much time and preparation went into its theft.’
‘There’s a saying in my country, Master Crispin: Cùm do chù ri leigeadh. “Hold back your dog till the deer falls.” There’s more here than meets the eye.’
‘How do you reckon that?’
‘It’s hiding under the thatch.’
‘Your metaphors are aggrieving my head.’
‘Tell me how the Stone was taken.’
Crispin gauged the old man again. The cagey bastard knew more than at first appeared. ‘It was replaced with a fake some days ago, and the fake exploded during Mass.’
‘Ah!’ The man scrubbed at his chin again. ‘It was no to be a secret until it was discovered gone, then. They could have left the fake there for days, months before it was discovered. But no. They wanted this to strike fear in King Richard’s heart. They wanted to let all the kingdom know what they were about. This is not the work of mere rebels but of a man of wealth with long arms.’
Crispin nodded. ‘A lord.’
‘Aye. And no just any laird. What of all the uprisings in the north of late?’
‘Yes, what of them?’
Crispin waited for more, but the man simply shuffled back to his stool and sat.
‘I will think on it, Master Crispin. And I will let you know.’
Dismissed, Crispin saw no other course but to leave. He reached into his scrip, wincing from the cut on his hand, and pulled out his money pouch. Taking two coins, they were suddenly snatched out of his hand by a snapping beak and the whoosh of dark wings.
Domhnall laughed and accepted the coins Lady Agnes dropped into his open palm. ‘Now you see, that is a fine servant.’
‘Yes. As is Jack Tucker.’
The old man blinked his rheumy eye. ‘I have no forgotten, Master Crispin.’ He tucked the coins into his own pouch and gave the raven a bit of dried meat. ‘You can rely on me.’
Crispin bowed. ‘I thank you, Master Domhnall.’
‘If I were you,’ called the old man just as Crispin reached the threshold, ‘I might ask at the Keys Tavern. It is known that many of my countrymen favor the place.’
‘The Keys. And whom do I ask for? Rebels?’
‘Och no. Give your name. They’ll know who you are and your purpose.’
Crispin gave him a nod of thanks and passed through the open door.
Once on the street he searched about, trying to get his bearings. Where was he? That damned bird had led him there from Westminster Abbey. He glanced above the rooftops and reckoned in which direction the Strand lay. It was a main thoroughfare between London and Westminster. There. That was the direction. He took a few steps, looked back at the strange hovel, and moved forward. Domhnall was a tough old bird – as tough as the birds he trained. And Crispin knew he was as good as his word.
The streets were bustling. Men and women shopkeepers busied themselves, dusting off their wares. Young apprentices hurried, carrying wooden pails of water, or fetching bundled sticks for fuel. Dogs followed the boys, either chasing them in fun, or looking for scraps. A beggar or two stalked in the shadows. Westminster was very much like London in most respects.
He made it to the Strand. In one direction lay Charing Cross and the palace. In the other was this alehouse. He set off east, looking for the ale stake and the sign of the keys.
The road was full of carts, those being pulled by people and many more being pulled by donkeys or oxen. Days were always busy along the hectic thoroughfare. Crispin found himself walking behind a man holding up a rack of roasted meats, and when the scent of them reached him, he realized he couldn’t recall the last time he ate. He leaned forward to tap the man on the shoulder when a hand closed over his arm.
He whirled about, hand on his knife hilt. A man with a heavy swath of fur at the shoulders of his cloak smiled affably at Crispin. ‘You are Crispin Guest,’ he said in a northern dialect.
‘Yes. Who are you?’
‘The answer to a prayer, no doubt. Consider this your lucky day, meeting me.’
Crispin took a step back and studied the proud man skeptically. He was tall, broad-shouldered – though it could have mostly been fur – with a ruddy complexion and hair, and too confident an air about him. ‘I ask again, who are you?’
‘The name’s McGuffin. And I have a feeling you’ll want to be talking to me.’
‘Do you? As soon as my business with this other is concluded, then we’ll talk.’ Crispin gave him one last appraisal and turned his back.
The man called after Crispin. ‘Is it the Stone you’re after?’
Slowly, Crispin turned.
McGuffin smiled and rocked on his heels. ‘I have food and drink, too. Come.’ He gestured and turned back toward Westminster.
Crispin looked up the street to what he thought was an ale stake, and then back to where the tall Scotsman was stalking up the street. With a weary sigh he strode forward, following the Scot.